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This book i must say was simply amazing. Onething i can say is i recommend this book. It's definitely a must read. One person found this helpful. I read this book the more I fall in love with it I will definitely be buying future books Thanks for telling us about the problem. Return to Book Page. The Collected Poems by Stanley Kunitz.
The early poems, long unavailable in any edition, sound themes that have always engaged Kunitz: But despite the power of his poems about loss, Kunitz remains ardent in celebrating life. He fully lives up to his own advice to younger poets "to persevere, then The early poems, long unavailable in any edition, sound themes that have always engaged Kunitz: He fully lives up to his own advice to younger poets "to persevere, then explore. Be explorers all your life. Paperback , pages. Published April 17th by W. Norton Company first published To see what your friends thought of this book, please sign up.
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Nov 01, Les rated it it was amazing Recommended to Les by: He who is a fierce young crier Of poems will be tranquil as water. Stanley Kunitz wrote the introduction to Hass's Field Guide. Kunitz's effusive praise of Hass made me both want to read Field Guide and had me in search of Kunitz's own work.
Kunitz's introduction alone revealed the heart of poet. How many introductions can do that? I looked forward to reading Field Guide and then moving on to Kunitz's Collected P He who is a fierce young crier Of poems will be tranquil as water. I received both collections from the library within days of one another. I dipped into Hass's poems and found them not quite suitable to my taste.
I then decided to dig into Kunitz's Collected Poems. The back cover alone made me realize I had something special in my hands: Through the years I have found this gift of poetry to be life-sustaining, life-enhancing, and absolutely unpredictable. Does one live, therefore, for the sake of poetry? No, the reverse is true: Poetry is for the sake of the life. His published poetry spanned 75 of those years. He was an elder statesman of American Poetics.
Those years and wisdom allowed him to make such bold statements as "Poetry is for the sake of life. His work is, however, consistently brilliant and engrossing. Kunitz spoke to me from a distance in Hass's introduction, beckoned to me on the back of this collection, grabbed hold of me with the opening reflections, and then alternately shook me and embraced me for the remainder of this amazing body of work. Throughout the collected poems I became acquainted with a soul who is immeasurably wise, deeply interested in and fascinated by the human condition, and who spoke to every aspect of my development as a man and a human being in a way that less than a handful of authors or poets ever have.
The first night I began reading the poems, I sat in bed with my wife and read the reflections to her. Perhaps it was due to us both being sleepy and in the right place, but every line seemed to resonate and put us in a collective awe. Reflections-- "Years ago I came to the realization that the most poignant of all lyric tensions stems from the awareness that we are living and dying at once. To embrace such knowledge and yet to remain compassionate and whole--that is the consummation of the endeavor of art.
The task is to get through to the other side, where we can hear the deep rhythms that connect us with the stars and the tides. But then I remind myself that to choose to live as a poet in the modern superstate is in itself a political action. It takes only a few years for most of the energy to leak out of a defective work of art. To put it simply, conservation of energy is a function of form. This is a body of work that should last many years. Reading the reviews of others I learned that many people were put off by Kunitz's early work.
Many people commented that his first collection of poems was too stilted and lacks connection with reality.
The Collected Poems
I worried that reading his reflections as a wise old poet and then moving back to his early years would be jarring and would lack the flow I initially read. This worry was unwarranted. I love his early poems, perhaps most of all. His first collection Intellectual Things, is replete with gems. The next group Passport to the War are grittier, darker, and more wrenching, but they seem to lack some of the wonder of the first book.
The latter reflect the darkness of the era. With each subsequent stage, there is change. There is less reliance on a rhyme scheme as the years progressed. I have to say though that Kunitz's rhythm, imagery, and wisdom coupled with the early rhymes pack a punch that do not feel sing-songy in any manner. I devoured this collection because I wanted to read it all at once. I wanted to inhale it and make it as much a part of me as my breath. I usually like to linger and savor poems, but these felt more like pieces of me that were lost and needed to be reclaimed more than something I found anew.
Kunitz's poetry feels like returning to the place that is your solace as well as your home base for adventure. It is simply a collection that feels like it was written for me and yet has so much universality that I think many people would feel that same sense of personalization. Stanley Kunitz's body of work reminds of a Neil Young song.
There is a town in North Ontario Dream comfort memory to spare And in my mind I still need a place to go All my changes were there. We were Helpless, helpless, helpless, helpless His poetry often traces the line of transformation and changes that we encounter just in being human. His early work does so with inspiration from John Donne and his later from his own life. He even self-reflects to his earlier poems in a manner that is somehow admirable and endearing more than narcissistic--perhaps one is permitted this when one's poetic life alone spans nearly 80 years.
Regardless, the changes Kunitz marks somehow trace my own changes, both those I have already endured and those, oddly enough, which I have to look forward. I can only explain the resonance of changes not yet occurred as something imbued deeply into the human condition. Regardless, when speaking of this collection, all my changes were there and I am simply helpless to the charms and beauty of this body of work. After finishing the first section of poems Intellectual Things, , I knew that this was a collection that would be important to me until I return the dust I borrowed to exist in this world--to mangle one of S.
It has arrived and would be placed on my special black shelf that holds my essentials and favorites, but it is currently residing by my bed so I may read a poem or two before drifting off. This collection has instantly moved to my "essential shelf" and will be read throughout my life. I have always referred to only one person as S. K in the past. Stanley Kunitz and the great sensei Steve Kendall are my two newest and highest ranking S.
I don't know that any of Mr. Kunitz's poems will resonate with anyone as much as they have with me. One of the mysteries and joys of why we read is to uncover gems that shine for us and to breathe new air that revives our souls.
He speaks to me. More than that I cannot say. Intellectual Things -- Transformation All night he ran, his body was air, But that was in another year. Lately the answered shape of his laughter, The shape of his smallest word, is fire. He who is a fierce young crier Of poems will be tranquil as water, Keeping, in sunset glow, the pure Image of limitless desire; Then enter earth and come to be, Inch by inch, geography. Lover, it is good to lie in the sweet grass With a dove-soft nimble girl.
But O lover, Lift no destroying hand; let fortune pass Unchallenged, beauty sleep; dare not to cover Her mouth with kisses by the garden wall, Lest, cracking in bright air, a planet fall. To love a changing shape with perfect faith Is a waste of faith; to follow dying things With deathless hope is vain; to go from breath To breath, so to be fed And put to sleep, is cheat and shame--because By piecemeal living a man in doomed, I said.
For time with clever fingers ties the knot Of life that is extended like a rope, And bundling up the spinning of our though The ribbons and the lace That might have made a garment for the wind , Constricts our substance to a cipher's space. Into the middle of my thought I crept And on the bosom of the angel lay, Lived all my life at once; and oh I wept At what I could foresee; Upon his death-soft burning plumage wept To vie with God for His eternity.
Yet is he neither here nor there Because tomorrow comes again Foreshadowed, and the ragged wing Of yesterday's remembering Cuts sharply the immediate moon; Nor is he always; late and soon Becoming, never being, till Becoming is a being still. Here, Now, and Always, man would be Inviolate eternally: This is his spirit's trinity. Now the tongue of the military man, Summoning the violent, Calls the wild dogs out of their holes And the deep Indian from his tent, Not to be tamed, not to be stamped Under. Earth-faced, behind this grove, Our failures creep with soldier hearts, Pointing their guns at what we love.
When they shall paint our sockets gray And light us like a stinking fuse, Remember that we once could say, Yesterday we had a world to lose. Garland, Danger End of Summer An agitation of the air, A perturbation of the light Admonished me the unloved year Would turn on its hinge that night.
I stood in the disenchanted field Amid the stubble and the stones, Amazed, while a small worm lisped to me The song of my marrow-bones. Blue poured into summer blue, A hawk broke from his cloudless tower, The roof of the silo blazed, and I knew That part of my life was over. Already the iron door of the north Clangs open: Passing Through-The Later Poems: He was the world's supreme illusionist taught by necessity how to melt his cage, slipping at will through his adversaries' grasp by self-denial, displaying one by one his famous repertoire of shifting forms, from lion and serpent to fire and waterfall.
But now he was heavy in his heart and languid, sensing the time had come to leave his flock. Must he prepare himself once more for the test? He could not recollect the secret codes that gave him access to his other lives. View all 7 comments. Aug 22, Mark rated it it was amazing Shelves: My God, no man I have ever met has had so much relaxed wisdom and acceptance for the way things are, including each and everyone's impending death. I don't know if I'll ever love a poet more than Kunitz. I wish I could better explain this.
Dec 30, Shannon rated it it was amazing. Kunitz is my favorite poet. It's hard for me to find the words to give his work justice. He obviously never had a problem with words. The way his words of nature flow into my heart I feel, I hear, I smell, I taste, I know. I wish it was mine. I wish all of his thoughts were my own, not so that I could write poetry like him, but so that I could embrace the beauty while I breathe.
My Reflections of Me: A Collection of Poems: Amanda Clayton: theranchhands.com: Books
It is a heady poem, a song and a howl of the force of life propelling salmon through the drama of birth and death. There is very little experiments in grammar, visual display, nor obscure words. On the readability level, he is even easier to approach than Frost and Cavafy.
I am not really certain that he expresses much religiousness, yet there are many poems asking the question of human life and death in that direction. If you must weep God give you tears, but leave Your secrecy to grieve, And island for your pride, And love to nest in your side.
This collection is a chronicle of an explorer of the whole span of human life. How fortunate we are to have Kunitz to lay down all he has discovered in such crystalized and quite accessible verses! Jan 13, Rick rated it it was amazing Shelves: Kunitz, who passed away this year at the age of , is one of the great American poets of the past century. This collection testifies to that fact indisputably. Published in , the collection is authoritative and inviting. Traveling from a supple formalism of his early works to the later free verse eloquence, Kunitz demonstrates a relentless c Kunitz, who passed away this year at the age of , is one of the great American poets of the past century.
Traveling from a supple formalism of his early works to the later free verse eloquence, Kunitz demonstrates a relentless craftsmanship and dedication to poems of substance. One of my favorites of the year. It is a book that I will come back to often.